


Forgiven

by SugarPill



Series: Condensed Trigun [22]
Category: Trigun
Genre: Blood, Knives Abuses Religion, Religious Confessional
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-12
Updated: 2014-12-12
Packaged: 2018-03-01 03:27:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2757842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SugarPill/pseuds/SugarPill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Knives has come to confess his sins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forgiven

“What are your sins, child?” The priest asked, customarily keeping his eyes trained forward, as to not pressure the worshiper on the other side of the wicker screen. “If you confess, all will be forgiven.”

“I have many sins according to your book, if I have read it correctly,” Knives said sneeringly. “But I have another matter to discuss, something I believe you will be able to help me with.” 

“I am here to help, son.” Knives could hear the falter in the priest’s voice, however slight. He could almost taste his uncertainty, imperfectly masking fear.

“Well, you see… I do believe I have blood on my hands.” 

The priest knitted his brows together in confusion as he felt something warm and wet splatter on his face. He wiped his cheek and then examined his fingers in the dim light of the confessional, startled to see it was red. In horror, he looked through the screen at who he thought was an innocent member of his congregation. 

And was shocked to find out how wrong he was.

On the other side of the screen, Knives was smiling maniacally, his hand pressed hard against the wicker so that droplets of blood oozed through the cracks. The priest screamed in disgust and terror, which just made Knives laugh. A split second later, and the priest slumped against the wall, his eyes rolled back, saliva and blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. 

Knives stepped out of the confessional, still giggling to himself. Legato was waiting for him by the altar, arms crossed, bored-looking as always. Before them stretched the church, row after row of wooden pews. Scattered throughout lay the people who were unlucky enough to attend service that Sunday morning, their bodies slumped in the pews and littering the floor and center aisle. 

“I’ve heard humans speak of how they feel lighter after attending this thing called church,” Knives sighed, stretching languorously like a cat. “And I’ve always wanted to try it.”

“Do you feel lighter, Master?” Legato asked in his monotone, managing to sound eager and listless at the same time. 

Knives surveyed the scene of carnage before him and grinned. “You know, I think I do.”


End file.
